The Wedding Night Prologue

Today my life is complete. Today I have at last kissed the woman that I will spend the rest of my life with. I dwell on that brief kiss even now, a full hour after it’s occurrence, if only to keep my thoughts away from what tonight will bring.

I can’t help glancing over to where she now sits, and what was meant to be a brief look, extenuates into a lingering stare, my gaze fixated on her beauty. As ever, her smooth face radiates with that unshakably pleasant demeanor, her glossy pink lips constantly moving, pursing, then almost puckering in the dry air of a late fall; crooking at first one, then both corners in that hint of a grin, as her mother speaks animatedly to her. Her strongly feminine jaw line, while rounded, is also substantially bold, and is only enhanced by the faint blush of pink suddenly staining her golden brown cheeks. She barely moves those tempting lips, in her quiet answer back to her mother. The pink on her cheeks deepens, becoming ever more obvious. It is a sure sign of her embarrassment, and it definitely enhances her beauty. I hope to see this blush tonight… But no, I must try to keep my mind off that.

It is amazing how well, and yet how little I seem to know her. Before today, rarely have I seen this confident young woman flustered. To think that I’m already married to her, it having been only two months since we first met. I have no doubt that I still have a world of discoveries to make about who she is, who she will become; but I will get my chance, as she stands beside me in the years and decades to come; as we face the world together.

Romantic sentimentality is definitely my secret weakness, which unfortunately she had discovered early on, and now never fails to exploit. Retrieving her strong hand from the vacant folding chair back beside her, she casually splays her fingers beneath her right breast, running the hand down and along her ribs and slim waist. She’s still pretending not to feel my stare, but I catch the flicker of her eyes as she glances over to where I stand watching. Her stormy eyes widen into a look of staged innocence, but then her brow really does crinkle in the center, in shock at something her mother has just said. Yet her glossy lips still upturn in a slight smile, spoiling the performance which is surely for my benefit.

My eyes are helplessly drawn to the continued downward movement of her hand. I drop my gaze from her face, though it has always been my favorite part of her to gaze upon.

She looks simply and elegantly beautiful in her form fitting white dress. It’s quite modest, covering her shoulders and chest nearly completely, but the way it hugs her curves… My eyes travel down the tight material, running over her shapely but plump breasts, which truly seem to be poised weightlessly atop her ribcage. Long have I wanted to stroke my fingers along the visible lines of her lower ribs, to brush my fingertips against their downward slanting grain, on up to her full breasts. Only now do I notice the faint outline of a diamond netting pattern, through the taut dress material hugging her bosom. It was not visible before. â€œDon’t dwell on it… plenty of time for that tonight.â€

I move on with my blatant examination of her. Why not? After all, I am married to her now. My eyes pause again, to rest and contemplate on yet another of her physical virtues; her slim waist. The white dress only enhances her thinness, and makes me think if I wrap my hands around her waist, my fingers might be able to touch over her hard navel. My hands are large indeed, but not quite large enough for that.

Her mother finally notices my staring, and seems to approve, laying a hand on her daughter’s arm and pointing me out. In a hushed whisper she speaks quickly into her daughters rounded ear, and now the sole reason for my heart will not look at either of us. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman look so mortified. Her blunt spoken mother must be imparting truly embarrassing wedding night advice.

My eyes stray still further downwards in anticipatory contemplation. The pronounced flare of my wife’s (how I love saying that!) hips have often left me dwelling on things not suitable for all audiences; how I will grip them, use them. The brilliantly white dress flexes as she gracefully shifts on the metal folding chair, the elastic material perfectly reforming itself over the sharp, and yet well rounded angles of her hip bones; not a wrinkle developing in the seamless cloth.

I will admit to being somewhat overly detailed in my description, but I can’t help myself; not when just a single glance from her storm gray eyes drive me towards composing a symphony of words on her beauty’s behalf.

And still my eyes continue their downward voyage over the slinky fabric, my knuckles whitening as I see how closely it hugs around her muscular thighs. If not for the dress material being of such high elasticity, she would have been forced into a shuffling waddle down the grass aisle. Instead she had practically floated over the springy turf, sensibly wearing slippers instead of heels. I have never liked heeled shoes, and have told her so. (I swear the reason for my dislike of the things is not that it makes her seem taller than me;)

Remembering how long the green pathway – formed out of fifty or so white steel chairs – had seemed, briefly returns that nervous empty feeling to my gut. But I remember how then, as she had turned to face me, walking arm in arm with her father, and had made her way up it towards me, time had dilated. In only an instant it had seemed she was standing there across from me, just feet away, boldly confident even during the tension of the ceremony. When the time was right and the vows were said, I had gathered her into my arms, but how could I enjoy a proper first kiss with her in front of that expectant audience?

My thoughts are pulled back to the here and now by the action of her uncrossing those long legs beneath her dress. I can imagine the warm feel of her thighs, and how the soft skin slides together in the movement. She was turned slightly in the folding chair to face and talk with her mother. Only now do I realize it is my approach that has caused her to shift positions. Without any conscious decision on my part, my legs have carried me like a moth to a flame, my will powerless against her allure. I’m even willing to burn myself for a chance to get close to her, or rather, interrupt the mother/daughter talk going on (always a dangerous proposition). The one sided conversation is killed by my intrusion, or at least postponed. For a long second my new mother-in-law glares up at me, but then shrugs off my intrusion.

The woman I love, slowly lifts her strong chin, her eyes finally meeting mine. She tries to hide just how enormously grateful she is for my timely rescue, from her shameless mother’s undoubtedly blatant honeymoon advice. I on the other hand, am instantly hooked by her gaze, then further drawn in. I lean down until those cloudy eyes fill my vision. My lips tingle from their proximity so near hers, but still I hesitate.

Why do I resist kissing my wife? It would be only the second kiss of our lives, the first one now only a recent memory. I fear that once I touch those erotic lips with my own; quite simply put, I won’t ever be able to pull away. I can feel how her warm breath feathers over on my lips, as she shudders ever so slightly.

The truth is I fear a kiss from her now will excite me in a most embarrassing way. The urges of my body are strong; stronger than ever before in my life. With my forehead pressed against her’s, I close my eyes and just breath. Even so I can feel the pulsing feeling starting up, down there. I need to distract myself, and right now!

Her startled eyes flicker open as I grab her wrists, pulling her from her chair. “Dance with me?” Though there’s no music playing at the moment, she nods agreement readily enough. Truthfully, I think she is glad at any reason to not be left alone with her mother.

I can’t help but caress the silky dress fabric a little with my fingertips, as I slide my hand to the small of her back. Her gloved hands move up and onto me; one to grip my shoulder, the other grasping and entwining into mine. Neither of us know exactly how to dance without music, so we just sway together, taking small steps in sync until we have a pattern worked out. To any bystander watching it must look silly, but she is all I can focus on.

Her hand on my shoulder tightens as she draws closer to me, blinking closed her grey eyes. She wants that kiss, but I am still too close to losing control. I slow our dance and raise up her hand to kiss instead. As my lips brush her gloved hand back, just above where the simple wedding band of gold newly resides, she stops her gentle swaying in my arms. Eyes opening to annoyed slits, she looks through her long lashes at me, unsure what game I play; but then she smiles, like every secret I have ever conceived is now laid bare before her wifely discernment. A blink from one of her stormy eyes shows her complete understanding, in a movement almost to slow to be considered a wink.

“So when can we leave to be alone?” She is bold! I return her smile, still acting my easygoing self, as if I am not overeager enough to bundle her into my car this very minute. “I think we’re supposed to wait another hour; or at least until the children have managed to completely fill our car with balloons.” She sighs impatiently, but nods and reluctantly steps away from me, as her bridesmaid friends wave her over.

I can’t help but watch her go, that is, until the hand I am resting on the vacated chair back, gets a thoroughly distracting pat. The still sitting mother of the bride is smiling up at me, almost conspiratorially. She gestures after her daughter good naturedly. My eyes latch back onto my wife, even as her mother speaks to me. â€œI know just how tight lipped my daughter can be… But don’t worry; I got her all softened up for you.â€ She sighs dreamily, but then turns quickly serious. â€œI’ll tell you what, son. You’ll never get out of here before eight, so you just take my daughter and run for it.â€ I look at her blankly, not getting it. â€œI mean right now! I’ll do my best to cover your escape. Everything you need for tonight I already put in your car. She put our stuff in my car? she really does seem have no shame.

Fully conscious on how to best walk in her dress, my wife finishes her swaying walk over to a nearby group (mostly single women) that had been watching our silent dance jealously. Now they eagerly integrate her into their ranks, barraging her with their chatter. But after a few seconds she glances back towards me. It’s obvious she isn’t hearing a word they say.

Behind me her mother springs from her chair, and before I can protest, practically strong arms me towards a nearby patch of evergreens. â€œI’ll run interference and send her your wayâ€ she whispers loudly, before delivering another, even more forceful shove to my back. I hardly like this nosy woman setting me up like this, but neither will I refuse such a perfect opportunity when it’s presented.

I stroll casually into the treeline, then take cover behind the thickly needled branches of a blue spruce. Peering through the thick knit and so obscuring pine needles, I watch as my wife is plucked from the group by her mother. For a second she squirms, no doubt thinking she’s about to be drawn aside for another talking to. (Later, I might just ask her what it is her mother said, to get her so embarrassed and antsy.) But then she glances around, and her sharp eyes find my hidden form in an instant. I hold out an arm into the open, gesturing her towards me, then point down the thick line of trees that will serve as our escape cover. She smiles excitedly, and begins to semi-casually swish my way.

Her mother’s expression on the other hand, is blank, all accept for the sly wink she sends my way. Then the godsend of a woman is pushing into the reception crowd, unobtrusively grasping shoulders, and making all the young women face away from my patch of trees, and towards the now western lowering sun. Her insistent voice starts up a long winded story about her daughter’s first word, and everyone’s attention is distracted for the time it takes for my wife to reach me. Still I wave several times at her to hurry up, not wanting us to get caught now; not when we’re so close to freedom!

Once we’re both safely out of sight behind the wind break, I grab her hand, taking off at an easy jog. Though forced to trot with foreshortened strides because of her dress, my wife still seems to glide over the ground beside me.

As we approach our car in the parking lot, kids look up in alarm from where they are applying Oreo cookies to the back windshield. Laughing, they giggle and run, as if expecting us to give chase. My wife’s flats patter only softly on the concrete of the parking lot, unlike my loud and clunky shoes. Yanking open the passenger door, I help her down into car. Not that she actually needs my help. Every movement she makes, is grace itself.

Once she manages to get all her dress into the car, I gently close her door; then hurrying around to the drivers side, I drop into the seat next to her. I look over at her, and she smiles. My body tingles with exhilaration from being so near her, and how much closer I will soon get. Surely she is some Goddess, mistakenly sent down as a mortal woman.